Harry gathered his impressive strength and prepared to cast the final spell of his incredibly complicated and draining ritual.

Several hours passed since he started chanting the hundred and one exacting spells needed for the seemingly impossible task.

Several weeks passed since he began carefully carving the thousands of intricate patterns of runes and archaic symbols covering the marbled floor of the enormous, purpose-built chamber.

Several years passed since first he dreamt up the insane idea and began raiding the deepest, darkest basements of the world's myriad of magical storehouses for knowledge nobody ever before assembled into a single coherent whole.

Several decades passed since his wonderful world and perfect life came crashing down around him, taking his not-so-faithful wife and their beloved children onto the next great adventure without him and leaving behind a bitter, destitute warlock, alone in an uncaring reality.

An immeasurable time of agony passed since Harry Potter's mind followed his heart into the black depths of desolate oblivion.

Now he was mere moments from performing the single greatest act of magic ever attempted. Raising the fabled Atlantis or uncovering the lost path to Avalon were silly, childish games in comparison; building massive Pyramids with a single spell, or cracking the moon in twain, unworthy of mention in the same breath.

For Harry was not just going to attempt an incredible feat of skill and power, he was going to challenge the power and control of the fates themselves. He was going to go back in time, back to where it all began for him, back to the day he turned eleven and met one of the few friends to never betray his trust or love.

Poor, old Hagrid.

They said his mind was gone long before the Dementors returned to their posts, but that was no comfort. How anybody ever managed to convict the gentle half-giant was beyond Harry, but his horrible demise still burnt like a newly stoked fire in Harry's heart and soul.

Now Harry would have a chance to set things right. He would return his lifetime of memories and all of his magical skill and power to his younger self, and from that day onward, everything would be different.

There would be no friendship with the pretender Ron, or his potion wielding family. Nor would any stuck-up, know-it-all Mudblood get away with deriding him at every turn and secretly undermining his relationships with others.

Certainly there would be no manipulative old codger twisting and weaving the threads of people's lives with the casual disregard of ancient crones knitting socks.

After a suitably fitting period of excruciating torture and torment, a certain snake-faced bastard and his lackeys would no longer be capable of freely running around slaughtering parents and ruining the lives of innocent children.

And the streets of Surrey would run red with the blood of a certain, absurdly, normal family.

No, this time he would truly be ready. This time he would make sure everybody got their dues, and nothing would stop him from becoming the god of vengeance reborn.

With a final yelled incantation, Harry completed the mammoth task. Magic crackled and burned as he forced it to do his bidding. Rifts in time and space opened up, tearing the very fabric of existence in an effort to follow the unyielding and absolute commands of the complex spell weaving.

Harry himself fell to the floor; pain so great he could not scream for relief lacing through his veins and boiling his life-blood away.

Eye-searingly bright lightning raged in massive tongues of destruction about the warded circle like a curtain of pure might and power. Tidal waves of gilded fire burst from the ancient druidic stones surrounding him, scolding the essence of the all encompassing ether unlike anything ever before.

Then, with a final, unholy cry of anguish, Harry arched his back and turned his face to the sky, thick arterial blood pouring from his mouth and eyes, and died.

Right across the vast expanses of the island universe, a silent, terrifying shudder rocked the foundations of all that is, shaking every atom and iota of energy as an impossible paradox strived for creation.

As his bloody, ravaged corpse fell limply to the burning floor, the glittering jewel that is all of creation flickered once, and then vanished from reality, never to exist again.

Finite Incantatem.

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